P.C. Cast: Goddess of the Sea

Her eyes snapped back open, and her gaze fastened again on the phone.

"But Mom, none of your homemade chocolate chip cookies?" She sipped the champagne and discovered she needed a refill. "How am I supposed to cover all the food groups without my birthday box?" She reached into the other bag and pulled out the bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken, original recipe, of course. Pointing from the chicken to the champagne, she continued her one-sided discourse. "I have the meat group—KFC—mixed with the all important grease group for proper digestion. Then I have the fruit group, champagne, my personal favorite. How am I supposed to complete the culinary birthday ensemble without the dairy/chocolate/sugar group?" She gestured in disgust at the phone.

Lifting the lid off the KFC, she snagged a drumstick and bit into it. Then, using it to punctuate her hand gestures, she continued.

"You know that you guys always send something totally useless that makes me laugh and remember home. No matter where I am. Like the year before last when you sent me the frog rain gauge. And I don't have a yard! And how about the God Bless this House stepping stone, which I have to hang on the wall of my apartment, because I have no house!" CC's disgruntled look was broken by a smile as she recounted her parents' silly gifts.

"I suppose you're trying to tell me to get married, or at the very least, to become a homeowner."

She chewed thoughtfully and sighed again, a little annoyed to realize that she probably sounded fifteen instead of twenty-five. Then she brightened.

"Hey! I forgot about my other message," she told the phone as she scooped it back up, dialed her messages, and skipped past her parents' voices.

"Next new message. Sent at 6:32 p.m."

CC grinned around a mouth full of chicken. It was probably Sandy, her oldest friend—actually she was the only high school friend CC still kept in touch with. Sandy had known her since first grade, and she rarely forgot anything, let alone a birthday. The two of them loved to laugh long distance about how they had managed to "escape" small town Homer. Sandy had landed an excellent job working for a large hospital in the fun and fabulous city of Chicago. Her official title was Physician Affairs Liaison, which actually meant she was in charge of recruiting new doctors for the hospital, but she and Sandy loved the totally unrealistic, risque-sounding title. It was especially amusing because Sandy had been happily and faithfully married for three years.

"Hi there, CC. Long time no call, girl!"

Instead of Sandy's familiar midwestern accent, the voice had a long, fluid Southern drawl. "It's me, Halley. Your favorite Georgia peach! Oh, my — I had such a hard time getting your new phone number. Naughty you forgot to give it to me when you shipped out."

CC's grin slipped off her face like wax from a candle. Halley was one of the few things she hadn't missed about her last duty station.

"Just have a quick second to talk. I'm calling to remind you that my thirtieth birthday is just a month and a half away — December fifteenth, to be exact — and I want you to mark your little ol' calendar. "

CC listened with disbelief. "This is like a train wreck. It just keeps getting worse and worse."

"I'm having the Party to End All Parties, and I expect your attendance. So put in for leave ASAP. I'll send the formal invite in a week or so. And, yes, presents are acceptable. " Halley giggled like a Southern Barbie doll. "See y 'all soon. Bye-bye for now!"

"I don't believe it." CC punched the Off button with decidedly more force than was strictly necessary. "First my parents forget my birthday. Then not only does it look like my oldest friend has forgotten it too, but I get a call from an annoying non-friend inviting me to her party!" She dropped the phone back on the counter. "A month and a half in advance!"

CC shoved the unopened bottle of champagne into the fridge.

"Consider yourself on-deck," she told it grimly. Then she grabbed the open bottle of champagne, her half-empty glass, the bucket of KFC and marched purposefully to the living room where she spread out her feast on the coffee table before returning to the kitchen for a handful of napkins. Passing the deceptively silent phone she halted and spun around.

"Oh, no. I'm not done with you; you're coming with me." She tossed the phone next to her on the couch. "Just sit there. I'm keeping an eye on you."

CC picked out another piece of delightfully greasy chicken and clicked on the TV—and groaned. The screen was nothing but static.

"Oh, no! The cable!" Because she would be out of the country for three months, she had decided to have the cable temporarily disconnected and had been proud of herself for being so money conscious. "Not tonight! I told them effective the first of November, not the thirty-first of October." She glanced at the silent phone. "You probably had something to do with this."

And she started to laugh, semihysterically.

"I'm talking to the telephone." She poured herself an-other glass of champagne, noting the bottle was now half empty. Sipping the bubbly liquid thoughtfully, CC spoke aloud, pointedly ignoring the phone. "This obviously calls for emergency measures. Time to break out the Favorite Girl Movies."

Clutching the chicken thigh between her teeth, she wiped her hands on the paper towel before opening the video cabinet that stood next to her television set. Through a full mouth she mumbled the titles as she scanned her stash.

"Dirty Dancing, Shadowlands, West Side Story, Gone With the Wind." She paused and chewed, considering. "Nope, too long—and it's really not birthday material. Humm…" She kept reading. "Superman, Pride and Prejudice, Last of the Mohicans, The Accidental Tourist, The Color Purple, The Witches of Eastwick." She stopped.

"This is exactly what I need. Some Girl Power." She plunked the video in the VCR. "No," she corrected herself. "This is better than Girl Power—it's Women Power!" CC raised her glass to the screen, toasting each of the vibrant movie goddess as they appeared. They were unique and fabulous.

Cher was mysterious and exotic, with a full, perfect mouth and a wealth of seductive ringlets that framed her face like the mane of a wild, dark lioness.

CC sighed. She couldn't really do anything about her own little lips—if she did, they would look like some kind of science experiment. Everything else about her was so small. But maybe it was time to rethink her short, boyish haircut.

Michelle Pfeiffer—now there was a gorgeous woman. Even playing the role of Ms. Fertile Mom, she was still undeniably ethereal in her blond beauty.

No one would ever call her cute.

And Susan Sarandon. She couldn't look frumpy even when she was dressed like an old schoolmarm music teacher. She oozed sexuality.

No guy would ever think of her as just a friend. At least no heterosexual guy.

"To three amazing women who are everything I wish I could be!" She couldn't believe her glass was empty—and the bottle, too.

"It's a darn good thing we have another." She patted the phone affectionately before rescuing the other champagne bottle from a life of loneliness in the fridge.

Ignoring the fact that her steps seemed a little unsteady, she settled back, grabbed a fourth piece of chicken and slanted a glance at the ever-silent phone. "Bet it shocks you that someone who's so little can eat so much."

It answered with a shrill ring.

CC jumped, almost choking on the half-chewed piece of chicken. "Good Lord, you scared the bejeezes out of me!"

The phone bleated again.

"CC, it's a phone. Get it together, Sarg." She shook her head at her own foolishness.